| “Tangled” by Sep *** Honor and love to Travis. *** Part8 For the longest time, John sat quietly in the sun that filtered through the windows, and he thought of the things his Aunt had told him. His mind wandered back to the night before when he'd had Jane in his arms, and when those moments replayed, he wondered if she was scared of him, and the more he thought, the more that insecurity nestled and dug at him in a way he couldn't really name. "Can I get anything for you Mr. Clayton?" The soft question of the housekeeper broke his concentration. For a moment he looked around, unsure that she was speaking to him. The title was something foreign to his ears. He studied her as he got up from the comfort of the chair, and though there were questions he considered asking, they seemed somehow better saved for another time. "No. I am going to shower. How late is it in the day?" He asked instead. "Why, it's three in the afternoon Sir." She informed him with a smile as she went on her way. Three, he thought as he looked around the corner at the hands on the enormous grandfather clock. Though he still had no real sense of time, he knew that until the small arrow was on the number six, Jane would not be home. Well, in the meantime he would shower, get himself dressed, and see if he could think of a way to talk to Jane, and to recreate those moments when she was so close to him. The thought of her lips against his was a sweet, almost unbearable pain and he closed his eyes as he let the memory wash over him. As he moved up the stairs slow and dreamlike, he could see it all over again, the way she had held onto him, that look in her eyes and the way her breathing sounded, small and weak as they had broken from the kiss. It stirred feelings within him that were both emotional and physical in nature, and he couldn't help but to harbor an awkward smile as he got undressed for the shower and noticed the presentation of such arousing thoughts on his body. Animal reaction. That couldn't be helped. He looked in the long mirror and ran one hand up and over his chest, thinking not of how he looked, but rather how Jane might see him, whether she would want him or push him away again. That thought was more than unwelcome as he stepped into the hot water. This was a luxury he was most fond of, despite all he loved about his home in the jungle. Hot water, and the thick towels that he wrapped around the warmth of his body afterward. His Aunt Kathleen had told him, "Leave the towels in the bathroom, John.", but he had gotten into the habit of walking back to his room with one securely held at his waist. They just seemed never to make it back to where she wanted them to live. So now again with a big blue wrap around his waist, he walked into the bedroom and went about finding himself some clothes. It was getting colder outside, and he made a face as he thought about the way the wind whipped down the streets. He did not like it in this cold city, and wished he could have the warmth all of the time. Even the atrium would soon be colder than he liked, and here he was having to find heavy shirts and pants, and as his Aunt had said, he was going to have to start wearing shoes. His feet hadn't felt shoes since he was a small boy, and when he'd tried a pair on the other night, it was almost enough to make him scream. Horrid and confining, shoes were. Like that other item "men wore" under their pants. No, he decided. He wasn't going to put that on. He made another face full of disdain as he dropped the towel and laid the clothes out on the bed. Why did this place, the modern world he'd been dragged into, need so much on the outside? He sat there and pulled on the pants. Those he didn't mind, they were dark brown and soft to his fingers. The first shirt he put on was plain white, like those underwear, and then over that he put on a lighter brown sweater. The white shirt showed from the neck of the heavy shirt, but it looked all right. In the time he'd been getting dressed, he had been thinking of what to do, and whether he should go see Jane, or should he let her come. Once she had told him she didn't want to see him, and she'd come anyhow. She'd made rules, and she'd not followed them. Maybe she would come tonight. He should wait. No, he should go to her place. Yes. He sat for long moments and looked at the shoes and socks set neatly against the doors that held the clothes. With one last smirk, he told himself it wasn't that cold out, yet, and the shoes could wait for some other time. Barefoot, he walked back down to the kitchen, grabbed a piece of chicken from the plate in the cold box, and headed out the front door. He liked to come down the far side of the outside walls, but everyone was telling him he must "adapt" to this world. Front doors. Clothing. Shoes. Most of the time he liked to stand for a moment and get a sense of the air, to see if there was anything strange, any presence unwelcome or threatening. Like his Uncle, he thought with a passing scowl, or maybe he could smell Jane if she were coming, but he didn't, and she wasn't, so he started off toward her place in no hurry, because it wasn't even a five on the clock when he'd left. He went to the park and sat among the trees. Here, he watched the children that played on the swings. They ran to their mothers and were met with warm arms, and it made him think of his own mother for a minute, and as hard as he tried, he couldn't see her catching him when he ran to her. The memories were too far gone, and with a sigh he got up and walked off. He went down by the police department, within safe distance on the nearby rooftops, but there was no sign of Jane. She was inside with Sam. He liked Sam. Jane's partner. The general confusion he had at times over words made him think as he walked along. Sam was Jane's partner. They worked together. He knew that. There was other meaning to that word somehow though he could not define it, and suddenly he longed for her, wanted her in his arms more than anything at all. He made his way along the familiar roofs, unhurried still, until he arrived at the building next to Jane's. There he sat on the edge of the roof and his bare feet dangled in the cold wind as he waited. He remembered when he'd last seen his Aunt, when she'd left that morning. He wished as he sat on the cold stones of the building that he had a long heavy black wrap like she'd worn. "Coat." He said in a rush of white breath on the cold air, with a smile. Before he could think about how cold he was, a light came on in Jane's window. She was home. It must be past the six, and that alone made him feel warmer. He watched as she moved, laying something down on the little table with the mirror, and then she walked to the bed and sat down on the edge. She put her hands on her face. She looked very tired to John as he watched, inching closer to the edge of the roof. Eventually he swung downward and landed silently on the fire escape that was opposite and below her window. She couldn't see him even if she'd come to look out, which in short time, she did. He watched as she pressed to the window and looked up at the very spot where he'd just sat. He waited a few more minutes until he saw her back away from the window, and then he made his way effortlessly up and over to the metal grating and stood there until she passed by again. She looked up almost without thought, and gasped when she noticed him standing there. Through the slightly fogged glass, he must have looked like a large blurry figure but he was sure she knew it was him, and she came immediately to open the window once more, half laughing at herself, half giving him that look of scolding he'd come to know on her face. "John Clayton," She said with that stern look. He knew she wasn't mad, she was just pretending. Make believe. He tried to look make believe mad too. That made her laugh. "You have to start using the door, boy." She backed away and went on doing the little things she'd been tending to when he showed up. She was putting papers here and there and he watched her move without saying anything as he sat down on her bed. "I need a coat." He said, thinking aloud more than anything. She turned to him with a little laugh, and said that yes of course, he was going to need a coat and definitely some shoes. Then she saw him shivering. It was warm enough in her room but two hours barefoot on the roof had chilled him to the bone. "Oh John, I'm sorry! Let's get you some tea, or something warm. You…" Her voice trailed off. "You're really impossible. Yes, you are. Coat and shoes John, tomorrow." He laughed but went with her happily as she led him into the other room. She sat him on the couch and covered him with a thick woven blanket which he pulled tight as he watched her go into the kitchen. Soon he heard the beep of the little cooking box. What was it called again, oh yes, micro-wave. She came in and handed him a small cup that felt very hot in his hands. The liquid inside smelled strong and flowery. "Drink up while it's warm. Trust me John, the last thing you want is to get sick. You haven't had a cold in God knows how long, and you'll get walloped if it sets in." She settled on the other end of the couch and once she'd kicked off her shoes, she tucked her feet up under the blanket. "What is it you mean?" He asked as he drank in the warm, soothing tea. She explained to him how it was to be down and out with a cold, and it made him think that indeed he didn't want one at all. "You care about me getting sick." He said with a smile. "Of course I care about you John, you should know that by now." "I do." He said. The tea had warmed him enough that he sat up and shook out of the blanket. As he looked into her eyes, that restless feeling stirred within him, and he looked away as he stood up, letting the warmth fall away. He moved to one of her chairs and leaned against the back of it, facing the window and studying the stars that were now filling the sky. As he hoped, she came up behind him. |